


The Dichotomy of Lingerie and Dumb Gryffindors

by Femeris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Caring Draco Malfoy, Caring Harry Potter, Crying, Draco in lingerie, Dumb Gryffindors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, Fluff and Smut, Gay Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Insecure Draco Malfoy, Insecure Harry Potter, Lingerie, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pansy Parkinson is a Friend, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femeris/pseuds/Femeris
Summary: “Are you really just going to stand there when you’re the one who said ‘Pansy, let’s go to a lingerie boutique so I can get something unbelievably sexy to wear for my doltish, thick-headed Chosen One boyfriend'.”“I didn’t say that,” Draco hisses, angling his body away from her.“I took a few creative liberties.”-In which misunderstandings spiral out of control, and laughter isn’t always the best medicine.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Comments: 43
Kudos: 663





	1. Crying in the Bathroom Again, Malfoy?

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a fluffy, porny little one-shot. Now it has chapters.
> 
> Welcome to The Dichotomy of Lingerie and Dumb Gryffindors.

Draco feels ridiculous. 

Standing next to Pansy only makes him feel a little bit better. Off to the side with his arms crossed, staring resolutely at the pristine white tile floor. 

Pansy just continues her perusing of the clothing rack, searching for her size. 

“You’re the one who wanted to come.” 

Draco forcibly wills the heat he feels licking at his ears down. 

“Pan—” 

“Are you  _ really  _ just going to stand there when  _ you’re  _ the one who said ‘ _ Pansy, let’s go to a lingerie boutique so I can get something unbelievably sexy to wear for my doltish, thick-headed Chosen One boyfriend.”  _

“I didn’t  _ say  _ that,” Draco hisses, angling his body away from her. 

“I took a few creative liberties.” 

“He is doltish…” Draco mutters, rubbing his right hand up and down his left arm, looking around the small but thoroughly stocked shop. 

Pansy chortles. 

“Yes,  _ that  _ you know I whole-heartedly agree.” 

“It’s not  _ only  _ for him…” Draco says, again glaring away the hot-pink he felt rising to his cheeks. 

Pansy glances at him. 

“Then what are you dawdling for?” 

Draco remains silent. 

What is he dawdling for? Well, a lot of things. For one, he’s in a  _ lingerie shop _ . Draco has become a lot of things he never thought he’d accept of himself when he was a teenager, but donning something  _ so  _ feminine set the deeply ingrained barbed teeth of every pureblood standard he was raised with on edge. 

“It’s just underwear, Draco,” Pansy says drily. 

“I  _ know that _ ,” Draco sneers, his mounting frustration at himself doing nothing for his mood. 

He imagines someone in the shop recognizing him. Draco Malfoy, notorious son of a Death Eater and (acquitted) Death Eater himself, pureblood kind-of-heir to the name of Malfoy, a house of the twenty-eight, seen shopping for  _ knickers _ . 

Even though the prospect itself is ridiculous, and Draco has spent the last five years telling himself  _ that that thestralshit doesn’t matter.  _ Either way it was improbable, since they’d chosen a muggle shop to go to. 

_ It’s just underwear _ . 

It’s also sixteen years old, crying in a bathroom because the Dark Lord is living in your house, and his stinking Death Eaters just eat you up, and you’re supposed to be preparing the gate that will let them loose on your school, and also figuring out some way to kill the man regarded as The Most Powerful Wizard Alive, and, oh yeah, you’re a fucking fag. 

And Potter’s the only one who can pull off sexy scars, anyway. 

“Pussy up, Malfoy.” 

Draco huffs, and finally breaks away from Pansy to head towards the other side of the store. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose. He knows Pansy’s right.  _ It’s just  _ underwear.

He walks slowly around a round table with lacy panties in an array of colors and styles arranged atop it. He pays little attention to the two mannequins situated in the center of the table that were little more than the lower half of torsos and upper thighs, modeling the underwear underneath them. 

As the creature of habit that he is, the dark green pair catches his eye first. They’re sort of small lacy shorts, which he reasons would be more practical for him than the bikini type. The lace is soft when he runs his fingers over it, and isn’t floral patterned, which he likes. 

He thinks the medium size might fit him. 

Again, infernal hellfire once again springs to his face as though he’s only just now realizing he’s actually considering buying lingerie. 

He snatches up the underwear before he can think about it for another miserable second, and moves on. 

He wonders if he should get a top to match. Could he even? Or did they all have cups that he couldn’t fill and would look ridiculously awkward on him? 

That’s when he passes a rack of bralettes, sorted also by  _ small, medium, large  _ and so on in either direction. He brushes his hand over the sheer green lace of one, the match to the underwear draped over the crook of his arm. He, again, finds the medium and takes it off the rack. 

“Is your shopping proving satisfactory?” 

Draco nearly flinches, turning on Pansy who has snuck up behind him. She holds a basket full of her own purchases. 

“Yes, thank you,” Draco sneers. 

Pansy nudges his side. 

“Find your chill, love.” 

Draco scoffs. 

Pansy nods her head towards a display further down. 

“How about those, then?” 

Draco turns again to look in the direction Pansy indicated and sees mannequins up on a platform wearing strappy one-pieces. A black one with a bandage-like top, connected to the high-V bottoms by a criss-crossing of straps, making an ‘X’ over the torso. The second garment is a deep red halter-top, connected to the almost non-existent, thong-like bottoms by six thin vertical straps. Draco can’t imagine the confusing tangle of delicate red fabric it probably was off a mannequin.

“Looks like a logic puzzle to get in and out of,” Draco says drily. 

“The end result is worth the effort,” Pansy answers. 

“Is it?” 

Pansy turns to him with a smirk. 

“If only to see the dumb-struck, mouth-agape expression of your victims? Oh, yes.” 

“Don’t refer to your sexual partners as your  _ victims _ ,” Draco says, crinkling his nose in distaste. 

Pansy runs her fingers through the right side of her hair, taming an out of place lock of it. 

“Victims of my undeniable sex appeal,” Pansy clarifies. 

Draco rolls his eyes, and then finds himself glancing in the direction of the mannequins once more. 

“Come on...don’t tell me you don’t want to,” Pansy goads. 

Draco huffs out a sigh. 

“Shut up, Pansy, it’s underwear,” Draco declares before striding forward towards the display. 

Pansy scoffs at his hypocritical parroting of her, and then follows behind him. 

Draco finds the rack the body-suits are on, and runs his fingers over the red one. Usually, he’d be adverse to the color on principle, but…

“ _ Dumb Gryffindors… _ ” Pansy teases in a lyrical tone, snickering. 

“Shut up, Parkinson.” 

“Oh it would be  _ priceless _ . Draco Malfoy, slimey silver  _ lord  _ of house Slytherin, all wrapped up in  _ Gryffindor Red  _ for  _ The Boy Who Lived _ ,” Pansy says with an arrogant smirk. “The irony is enough to roll whole ancestral mausoleums upside down.” 

Draco breathes out an aggravated huff. 

“Like I care what a bunch of dead, dusty, blood-purists think about my lingerie purchases,” Draco draws. 

Pansy barks out a laugh, grabbing on to Draco’s arm with her free hand. 

“Oh, darling, did you  _ ever  _ think we’d come this far?” She asks, eyes bright with laughter. 

“What, when we were teenagers? Hardly.” Draco lifts his arm so that their arms are effectively linked. 

Pansy says nothing for a moment. Several moments actually, which pass in utter static. 

“Well, are you going to get one, or are we just going to stand here, staring and reminiscing about the unmentionable in the unmentionables?” 

Draco groans, and grabs one of the red bodysuits that looks the most like it’ll fit him. He can charm it if it doesn’t. If he ever actually  _ puts it on _ , that is. 

Standing in their bathroom, Draco stares at himself in the mirror and has no idea how he’s ever going to be able to convince himself to walk out like this. 

_ ‘This’  _ being the lacy green underwear he picked up earlier in the day. The top sits flat against his chest, and he can’t shake the feeling that it just looks  _ odd _ . The bottoms fit just as snugly, and are only slightly uncomfortable. 

It’s hard for Draco to think of himself as  _ attractive _ , what with his sharp, unwelcoming edges, lined with twisted and puckered scars, and the ugliest mark of them all obviously present on his left arm against the pale background of his flesh. 

He reaches up, and takes his hair down from it’s bun. As it falls, the ends brush the tops of his shoulders. He pushes his hand through it, catching the tangles. Harry likes it down. 

_ Harry.  _

Harry’s sitting out in the living room on the couch, waiting for Draco to come back, completely oblivious to anything Draco’s been up to all day. 

Draco drags his fingers through his hair again. Nerves are sparking in his chest like he’s learning a spell for the first time. 

Somehow, wearing the lingerie he feels even  _ more  _ naked than if he were completely naked. Potter’s already  _ seen that _ .  _ This  _ feels like exposing himself in a whole new, even scarier way. 

Draco huffs in frustration at himself, and perches on the edge of the tub. His knee starts bouncing immediately. It’s silly to get worked up over it. He either needs to do it, or  _ not  _ do it, and he just needs to decide, because all the fretting is dramatic. 

He looks down at himself. The dark color contrasts with his light skin. He imagines what he might look like next to Harry’s darker skin, among their white sheets. The aesthetic might be enough motivation alone. 

That’s the point anyway, right? 

It’s why he bought the cursed articles of clothing in the first place. To look  _ good _ . 

Harry thinks he looks good, he  _ knows _ that much, he’s been told often enough. 

_ But he’s never seen me dressed like  _ this. 

What if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s  _ Not His Thing _ ? What if he looks at Draco, and his face falls because Draco’s  _ not  _ a woman? 

_ It’s just underwear.  _

_ Find your chill, love.  _

_ Pussy up, Malfoy.  _

Draco takes a deep breath, and stands up, adjusting the underwear again. 

He goes to the door, and unlocks it. It takes stealing all his nerves to open the door. 

The cool air that washes over pretty much  _ all  _ of him, the thin, sheer lace doing little in the department of warmth, is nearly enough to make him slam the door shut again. 

_ Oh, for Merlin’s sake!  _

He’s a  _ Malfoy _ , damnit! If he can’t walk confidently out into the living room wearing lingerie, chin held up with the knowledge that anyone would be  _ lucky  _ to catch a  _ glimpse _ of him, then he really  _ does  _ need to renounce his name. 

Draco strides toward the open bedroom door, ignoring the fact that he gulps when the couch comes into view, Harry’s unruly head of hair visible. Draco stops in the doorway, and then decides to lean his right side against the doorframe, reaching up to hold it with his right hand. He breathes in, closing his eyes for a moment, and then schools his features into something familiar, eyebrow cocked and mouth tilted up into a confident smirk. 

He raps his fingernails against the doorframe once. 

Harry’s head turns, neck craning to look over the couch. When he spots Draco, his eyes go wide, eyes raking down and up again. Draco’s mouth starts to turn into a genuine smile, just about to let go of the doorframe and take a step closer...

Then the bastard  _ laughs _ . 

Draco feels the uncomfortable warmth of trepidation, the nerves, and all the insecurity within him rush out, replaced instantly by cold, heavy, all-consuming rage. 

He spins around, feeling, if possible, even  _ more  _ naked than the more naked he already felt. Fleeing through their bedroom, and back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut, locking it. 

He doesn’t turn on the light, instead, he sinks immediately to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. 

_ Crying in the bathroom again, Malfoy?  _

He sinks his teeth hard into his lip so that the sob that claws its way out of his chest doesn’t make it past his mouth. 

“ _ Draco, no—I didn’t mean it like that! Please, open the door! Let me explain!”  _

Harry’s frantic words spill muffled through the door, pounding it with his fist. 

“Get bent, Potter!” Draco calls back, ashamed to hear the thickness in his own voice. 

“ _ Draco, please love, open the door! I would nev—I wasn’t making fun of you! Love—”  _

_ “Go Away!”  _ Draco shrieks. 

He pushes himself up off the floor, furiously wiping at his face with the back of his hand, and then tugs the ridiculous bits of clothing off of him, obtaining a painful scratch from his fingernails down his left side in his haste. Both the lacy green top and bottoms go in the bin by the sink. He pulls on his pants, and trousers after, then struggles with the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking uselessly. After doing them up half-way, he grits his teeth in frustration and impatiently decides it’s good enough. 

Harry is still spewing nonsense Draco  _ really  _ doesn’t want to listen to. 

He unlocks and yanks open the door, interrupting Harry mid sentence. 

Harry freezes, mouth hanging open like a stupid fish. 

“ _ Move _ ,” Draco demands, stepping forward to try and push past him. 

Harry’s hands fly up, grabbing on to Draco’s biceps as he stares at him with wide eyes. 

“Draco, listen—” 

“ _ MOVE! _ You dumb Gryffindor!” Draco shouts in his face, making him flinch. 

Harry lets go of him, and steps to the side. 

Draco heads straight for the dresser, where his wand lays next to a vial of nail polish and a copy of  _ Quidditch Weekly _ . As soon as his fingers wrap around his wand, Draco vanishes with the telltale  _ crack  _ of apparition.


	2. A Little Bit That Evil, Slytherin, Death Eater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh dear, here we go with the ‘Stupid Potter’’s again,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Tuesday, my dudes!

Harry is left staring at the empty space that had been occupied by Draco only a second ago, blinking. 

_ I’ve fucked it royally, haven’t I?  _

After a second, he turns, going into the bathroom also recently vacated by Draco. He flips on the light switch, and looks around, ashamed to recall the small sounds of Draco trying not to cry behind the locked door. 

His  _ face  _ when he stormed out…

Harry brings his hand up to his own face, rubbing at his eyes. When he drops his hands, gaze still downcast, he sees something green and lacy hanging over the side of the bin. He sighs miserably, lowering himself to his haunches by the bin, and grabbing the knickers, remembering how Draco looked in them. 

_ And then you had to go and ruin it.  _

He folds the underwear, and slips them into his pocket before standing up, feeling only  _ slightly  _ like a creep. Then he heads to the living room to grab his own wand. With a flash, and lurch of his stomach, he’s outside Ron and Hermione’s. 

Shyly, he knocks on the door. He’s relieved when Hermione’s the one to answer a minute later. 

She smiles at first, and then her eyebrows furrow. 

“Harry? What’s wrong?” She asks immediately. 

Harry looks down. 

“Can I come in?” He asks. 

“Of course, Harry, what...What happened?” 

Harry sighs, prodding the edge of the welcome mat with his shoe. 

“Harry…” Hermione draws. 

“I did a bad thing,” He finally says, looking up with a wince and a guilty expression. 

Hermione rolls her eyes, and opens the door wider.

“ _ Honestly _ , will you ever  _ not  _ be completely hopeless? In, you.” 

Harry feels his face heat up as he follows Hermione’s purposeful gait into the house, closing the door behind them. 

Pansy’s Hogsmeade flat is silent and dark, and Draco apparates directly onto her stoop, not pausing for a moment before his fist is raised, pounding on her door like Harry had been at their bathroom a few moments ago. 

After a few more long seconds, the lock clicks and the door squeaks open, revealing a pyjama and sheer dressing gown clad Pansy, holding a half-empty wine glass in her left hand. Her expression goes from unimpressed with whoever was pounding at her door this late at night, to wide-eyed at the sight of Draco standing there, tear-streaked and enraged. 

After a beat, Pansy speaks. 

“Dumb Gryffindors?” Pansy inquires sympathetically. 

With that sentence, Draco’s shoulders deflate. The anger seeping out of him as he realizes Pansy understands before he even has to say anything. But then, with the anger gone, all that’s left is his miserable expression. He nods. 

Pansy holds out her wine glass. 

“Come in, then,” Pansy says, as she passes her wine to Draco before turning around and heading back inside, leaving the door open for him to follow, “I’ll get another glass.” 

Harry sits at Hermione’s kitchen table, running his finger over a chip in the mug he was given after Hermione finished making tea. Now they sit across from each other, and there is no reason for Harry not to be speaking. 

“Well?” Hermione goads, brows raised expectantly. 

Harry glances up at her. 

“Where’s Ron?” He asks. 

“His mother owled earlier. Gnomes in the garden again. By the time he got finished with them, it was late enough he decided to stay the night,” Hermione explains. “Now. Tell me what happened.” 

Harry sighs for the upteenth time, and takes a sip of his still too-hot tea. After setting it down, he resigns himself to the fact that  _ now’s the time _ . 

“It’s...It’s about Draco.” 

“Yes, I pretty much gathered that much.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Well...everything was fine, and we’d just gotten home from dinner, and I sat down on the couch to maybe watch something, and then Draco went off into the bedroom for a minute.” 

Hermione nods along with his story, waiting for the part where it all went wrong. 

“He was gone for a long time, and I started to get worried...Like...I don’t know, I just was... _ concerned _ …” 

Hermione nods again once, gesturing for Harry to continue. 

“So I’m sat there, wondering if something was wrong, going over dinner, the walk home, wondering if I said something, or did something, or...I don’t know…” Harry runs his thumb around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes we let things slip that just catch the other at the wrong time, and it rubs the wrong way, and...I thought maybe I’d accidentally done something like that without realizing.” 

Hermione nods again. 

“Yes, I can understand that.” 

Harry nods. 

“Right, so, I’m sitting there, just thinking of all the things that I could have done wrong, and of all the horrible ways the rest of the night was going to be, and if we were going to have a fight, and then—well, and then he comes  _ back _ …” Harry trails off, feeling heat rising to his face again. 

“Yes?” Hermione presses. 

“He comes back—well, he comes to the doorway of to the living room, anyway—and he gets my attention, and I look over and he’s...well, he’s wearing a bra and knickers, Hermione, and I really don’t know how else to get through that bit, but he’s wearing them, and standing there, looking  _ unbelievably  _ good, and I—” 

Harry looks away. 

Hermione, whose eyes had gone momentarily wide, and then relaxed back to normal, now stare at him expectantly. She holds her mug with both hands, expression slowly slipping into a frown.

“What did you do?” Hermione asks warily. 

“I laughed, Hermione,” Harry says, and then lets his head drop, forehead thunking loudly against the tabletop. 

“ _ Har-ry! _ ” Hermione exclaims. 

Harry lifts his head, fixing her with a miserable expression. 

“I know, Hermione! Okay? I know! I know, it was terrible, and the  _ worst  _ possible timing, and—but—I didn’t  _ mean it  _ like that; I wasn’t making fun of him! I was just…” Harry trails off, gesturing uselessly with his hands. “Happy…” he finally says, and looks away again. 

“Like, here I was, thinking all these terrible things, thinking I’d done something wrong and he was so upset with me, when actually he just…” Harry trails off, exhaling deeply. 

“Wanted to have a nice time with his significant other who he trusted not to laugh at him when he put himself in a vulnerable position?” Hermione asks, sounding so much like Professor McGonagall, it was almost gross in the context. 

Harry’s chest constricts painfully. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. 

Hermione bites her lip, eyes finally showing her sympathy. 

“...and what happened after that?” Hermione asks gently. 

“He turned around and ran to the bathroom,” Harry says regretfully, “but before that he...he just looked so fucking hurt, ‘Mione. Like, I could tell that I...I really messed up.” 

Harry swallows thickly, and looks back down into his mug before continuing. 

“I followed him to the bathroom...but he locked the door, and I could hear him—” He pauses, “...And then he stormed out, fully dressed, and told me to move—grabbed his wand and disapparated before I could say anything else.” 

Hermione sighs. 

“Oh, Harry,” She says. 

Harry looks back up. 

“So what do I do?” He asks abruptly, and Hermione once again looks taken aback. “How do I fix it?” Harry continues. 

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” 

Harry nods. 

“How in Godric’s name should I know?” Hermione sputters. 

“Well...you know everything!” 

Hermione gives him a dry look. 

Harry sighs again and looks away. 

Hermione exhales heavily through her nose. 

“He loves you, Harry.” 

He looks up at the statement, which sends him spiraling even deeper into his guilt pit. 

“I’m sure he’ll understand if you just  _ explain _ it to him.” 

“I hope so...” He breathes, bracing his elbows on the table and pressing his fists against his closed eyes before muttering, “‘just such a...dumb Gryffindor.” 

Hermione chortles. 

“Too right…” 

Harry folds his arms atop the table and rests his chin on them. 

“I’m scared he’s going to leave,” Harry murmurs. 

Hermione cocks an eyebrow. 

“Over this?” 

Harry inhales deeply. 

“Just...in general,” he says, keeping his quiet tone. 

Hermione frowns. 

“Harry...you’ve lived together for nearly two years. I  _ highly _ doubt that.” 

Hermione reaches out, putting her hand on his and igniting a familiar warmth in his chest. 

“I know it’s...hard for you to believe anyone’s going to stick around…” 

Harry watches their hands, trying to not let his face betray the worry he feels. 

“But...hasn’t Draco proved himself? Haven’t  _ you _ ?” 

Harry buries his face in his arms. Hermione pats his hand. 

“You can’t let misunderstandings upend your whole relationship,” she says gently. 

After a few seconds of silence, she speaks again. 

“...Do you know where he’s gone?” 

Harry lifts his head again with a big exhale. 

“Of course I do,” he says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “he’s run to Pansy.” 

Hermione smirks. 

“Kinda like how you ran to me?” 

Harry chortles. 

They sit on the floor in front of Pansy’s fireplace. The flames, flicking and cracking, cast them in an ominous, deep green glow. 

“ _ Honestly _ , that brainless, simpleminded, thick-headed, dim-witted, numbskull, jackass, twit!” 

Pansy nods along with Draco’s rant, closing her eyes briefly as she takes a sip of her wine. 

“Draco, listen to me, the useless git isn’t worth it.” 

Draco looks away, sniffing in contempt of the tears that won’t stop welling up in his eyes. 

“He’s just so,  _ so _ ... _ Ignorant!  _ I don’t know  _ why  _ I ever thought  _ stupid  _ Potter would ever be capable of...of—!” Draco trails off, taking an angry sip of his wine as he glares at the fireplace. 

Pansy rolls her eyes. 

“Oh dear, here we go with the  _ ‘Stupid Potter _ ’’s again,” she says, leaning back and stretching her legs out in front of her. 

Draco’s shoulders hitch, and his fingers tighten around his glass enough that he feels the glass tense. 

“It...How  _ dare  _ he just...and...all because I’m not a  _ woman _ —” 

“Did he  _ say  _ that?!” Pansy exclaims, eyes going wide. 

Draco glances at her. 

“ _ No _ ,” he says, “...but he probably fucking thought it,” Draco mumbles. 

Pansy rolls her eyes again. 

“Draco, why would that matter?” 

Draco shrugs; cut off and drawn shut. 

Pansy sighs, and rolls her head on her shoulders. 

“Look, darling, if he can’t appreciate  _ you _ , in  _ gorgeous _ ,  _ expensive, sexy  _ lingerie, then there’s  _ really _ no hope for him,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “Draco, I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. He  _ doesn’t know how  _ to care about you the way he would for someone else.” 

Draco nearly experiences whiplash in the jerky movement he makes to look at Pansy with wide eyes. 

“What the  _ hell _ ’s that supposed to mean?!” He shouts. 

“It  _ means _ that a little part of him is  _ always  _ going to see you as just a  _ little bit  _ that evil, Slytherin, Death Eater he hated for eight years.” Pansy says, all measured evenness and calculated coldness. As if it were practiced, rehearsed; like she’d always thought it. 

Draco bites down on the inside of his cheek, glaring hard at Pansy, his vision starting to warble and swim. 

“Oh, this is one of those rare occasions that I  _ am  _ truly sorry to be so blunt, Draco, but I gave him a  _ chance _ …” Pansy hisses, her nose wrinkling up in distaste. 

Draco sniffs, and drags his hand underneath his eyes quickly, looking away. He hears Pansy moving, and then she settles down closer to him, their shoulders almost touching.

A large part of Draco, something that had been delicately covered with a sugar-glass thin coating, is cracking audibly; believes Pansy. 

It’s his own thoughts parroted back to him anyway. His own stupid, glaring,  _ accurate  _ insecurities. Time soothed them, tucked them away. Everyday that Potter kept looking at him with that stupid fucking smile. But they never  _ went away _ , did they? Like the fucking baby that wouldn’t be smothered. 

“It was just a laugh…” Draco reasons quietly instead of giving in, setting his glass down and crossing his arms tightly over his chest like he could stop the doubt. The fear. 

Pansy scoffs. 

“Whatever you say, Draco.” 

Draco’s shoulders tense. 

“You’ve just been  _ waiting  _ for something like this to happen,” Draco spits nastily, jerking his head in Pansy’s direction to glare at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Haven’t  _ you _ , love?” 

Draco looks away. 

Pansy shakes her head, and sips her wine. They both stare into the fire, gloom weighing heavy on their shoulders like a dark blanket. It feels like being back at Hogwarts, sitting in the common room, having, at the base of it all, the same tiringly similar conversations.


	3. Chosen One, Savior, Golden Boy, Jesus Christ Superstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter up a couple hours early because 69 kudos seemed like cause for celebration.

Draco still hasn’t looked away from the fire, and Pansy finds her eyes being drawn there as well. Watching the sharp edged flames flick and crack. She’s contemplating speaking again, maybe putting her hand on Draco’s shoulder, drawling something sarcastic enough to just barely pass for apologetic when suddenly they both jump. A knock at the door, though a lot less aggressive than Draco’s had been earlier, startles them out of their trance in front of the fireplace. 

Pansy’s face darkens. She gets up, leaving her empty glass on the coffee table and whisks out of the room, leaving Draco on her rug. 

The door reveals exactly the prick she suspected when she tugs it open. 

“Pansy,” he says. 

“ _ Potter _ ,” she bites back in response. 

He’s standing on her stoop with an expression like a kicked puppy. All big, guilty eyes, and curled in, deflated shoulders. 

“Is he here?” he asks quietly. 

And it’s the  _ way  _ he says it. Genuine, and sad, and like he’s expecting to be shouted at and knows he deserves it. 

Several seconds of silence pass in which there’s an unfamiliar sensation in her chest, like thick molten liquid suddenly filling the spaces between her ribs. Her shoulders fall. 

Maybe she understands after all why Draco’s been in love with the moron since he was eleven. 

She curses silently. 

“Maybe,” she finally says, still guarding the threshold. 

Potter bites his lip. 

“Can you ask...can you ask if I can talk to him? Please?” 

Pansy truly, actually,  _ genuinely  _ answered the door with every intention to insult Potter, then slam it in his face. 

She gets it now, how The Golden Boy won the war. She’d spent the last half hour cursing his name, and now he’s  _ melted  _ her. 

It’s pathetic, really. It feels like some disgusting bug in her throat. 

“You don’t deserve it.” 

Potter looks up, eyes going slightly wider, and  _ there’s  _ that arrogance, huh? Like he’s surprised someone would  _ dare  _ say that to  _ him  _ of all people. Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? The Chosen One, Savior, Golden Boy, Jesus Christ Superstar,  _ not deserving something?!  _ And that  _ something  _ a worthless,  _ Evile,  _ Death Eater? 

“You—” 

“Pansy.” 

A voice from behind cuts her off. 

She turns around and Draco is standing there, giving her a look. 

Pansy bites down on her tongue. There’s anger in her chest, in her fingertips; curled into fists, nails cutting into her palms. She can  _ feel  _ Potter’s presence just over her shoulder, and she wants to lash out at him. For being Harry Potter, for being so  _ good _ , and  _ pure _ , and  _ righteous _ , for being a manipulative cunt, for making her best friend cry, for Everything That Has Ever Gone Wrong Ever...

But Draco’s looking at her. And in his eyes she can see the veiled emotion there, the kind she learnt to recognize over years, the almost indistinguishable plea. 

And she can’t lose him. So she brushes past Draco without a glance behind her, and as she does, she sees the subtle ‘ _ thank you’  _ that crosses his face. 

Draco feels heat rise to his cheeks as Pansy leaves. 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry says, taking a step forward into Pansy’s entrance hall. 

Draco crosses his arms over his chest, dropping his gaze to the floor, noticing for the first time that he’s barefoot. In his haste to get away from the flat, he’d completely forgotten  _ shoes _ . 

Something in his chest cracks at that. Like maybe he shouldn’t have run away. Maybe it was an overreaction.

_ Maybe he’s always going to be just a little bit that evil, Slytherin, Death Eater he hated for eight years. _

Draco looks up again, keeping his face together with as much determination as he can muster. 

“That so?” He asks. 

“Yes,” Harry says with so much... _ muchness  _ in his eyes, you’d think he wasn’t furious over his partner’s complete overreaction dramatic meltdown. “...can we talk?” 

Draco risks looking up. 

_ Can we?  _

Draco doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear whatever Harry has to say. 

Because what if it just wasn’t his thing, and Draco humiliated himself for no reason? How the fuck is he supposed to get over that? 

Or what if Pansy’s right? And he’s just been fooling himself this whole time. 

There should be a security that comes with being with someone for so long. There  _ is _ . Draco felt it enough to buy the fucking lingerie, didn’t he? And yet it all broke so fast. And whose fault is that? Why can’t Draco just  _ talk  _ about it like a normal fucking human being? 

Draco studies Harry, who waits for his response, worrying his lip between his teeth. 

Finally, Draco sighs. 

“Come on,”he says, and brushes past Harry, going out Pansy’s door and onto her porch. He stands in front of the railing, holding on to it as he looks out, and up at the sky. Only a few stars were visible on the cloudy night. The sliver of a new moon. He hears Harry follow him out, closing the front door behind them, and coming to stand beside him.

“I shouldn’t have laughed.” 

Is the first thing Harry says. Draco chews the inside of his cheek, still looking up.

“I’m sorry,” Draco says after a moment, hands still wrapped around the railing. “I guess I should have asked before I...well, it’s obvious you weren’t  _ into  _ it.” 

“No, no, Draco, that’s not it at all!” Harry hurries to explain, turning and grabbing Draco’s arm again. “I  _ did _ , I did like it.” 

Draco fixes him with an incredulous look. 

“It wasn’t  _ like  _ that,” Harry continues to try to explain, frustration crowding his voice, making his eyebrows furrow. “The laugh—the laugh was just because I thought you were mad at me.” 

“Why would I have been mad at you?” Draco exclaims back, tone matching Harry’s frustration. 

“I don’t know! Half the time I never  _ know why _ you’re mad at me!” 

The offended look on Draco’s face must be plain, because Harry’s eyes widen, and then he waves his other hand wildly as though trying to wipe his previous sentence away. 

“Look, that’s not— _ Merlin _ …” Harry looks skyward, breathing in deeply through his nose and then out slowly through his mouth. He looks back to Draco, who watches him, still allowing his hand to be on his arm. 

“When we got home, and you disappeared for half an hour, I got nervous.” Harry says. 

Draco cocks an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t know if I’d done something...something, you know, characteristically stupid to make you upset.” 

This does manage to derive a sardonic scoff, and Harry smiles a bit. He brushes his thumb over the crook of Draco’s elbow. 

“I wasn’t upset,” Draco says quietly. 

“Yeah, well, I figured that out when you came out in sexy underwear.” 

Draco rolls his eyes, trying to compensate for the heat he feels rising in his face. 

“I’m...sorry that I...get upset with you so often, then,” Draco says, turning his head as he does, unable to keep looking Harry in the eye while he makes the confession. 

“I don’t mind most of the time,” Harry says softly, and Draco feels his thumb again, running over the crook of his arm. “As long as you tell me  _ why  _ you’re upset. Because I won’t have any idea of what I’ve done, like, seventy percent of the time if you don’t let me know.”

Draco chortles. He lifts his hand to cover the one Harry has on his arm. 

Harry tucks a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. 

“You looked gorgeous.” 

Draco keeps his eyes trained on their hands. 

“ _ Unbelievably  _ gorgeous, like, you usually are, but you looked almost  _ unforgivably  _ so.” 

Draco rolls his eyes, finally shoving Harry away lightly. 

“Shut up, Potter.” 

Harry laughs, and steps closer to him again. 

“No,” he says easily. 

Draco watches out of the corner of his eye as Harry pulls something lacy and green out of his pocket. 

“I did like it,” Harry says sincerely, passing the knickers to Draco. “Shame to throw them out.” 

Draco takes them, losing the battle with the heat in his cheeks. He runs his thumb over the lace like he did in the store. Finally, he looks up drily. 

“Didn’t like the top then?” 

Harry looks away in such a way that Draco knows he’s blushing. 

“I didn’t see it in the bathroom.” 

Draco rolls his eyes, and puts the underwear in his own pocket. 

Harry slips his hand around Draco’s waist, silently thanking the stars in the sky when Draco allows it. He presses his mouth against Draco’s jaw, right underneath his ear. 

“ _ You’re not wearing shoes _ ,” he murmurs. 

Draco glances down at his own feet, which were quite cold standing bare on Pansy’s porch. 

“Yes, well,  _ some  _ of us respect the No-Shoes-In-The-Flat rule,” Draco retorts. 

Harry’s brow furrows. 

“That’s never been a rule.” 

“Well it is  _ now _ ,” Draco says, turning his head to give Harry a look. 

Harry grins. 

Draco looks down again, rolling the situation over in his mind. 

“You’re not mad at me?” He finally asks quietly. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” Harry responds, and Draco hears the confusion in his voice. 

“Because I ran,” Draco says. 

“Hey,” Harry says, and Draco looks up at him. “I understand.” 

Draco scoffs.    
“Come on, I do,” Harry says, squeezing his waist. “You were upset.” 

“And then I  _ ran away _ , like a fucking—” 

“Stop, come on, Draco,” Harry says, nudging him. 

Draco falls silent. 

“I mean...do I wish you’d stayed and we talked about it and came to an understanding at home? Yeah, obviously, but...I don’t know—I know you. I betrayed you. It makes sense you ran.” 

Draco pushes a hand through his hair. 

“You didn’t  _ ‘betray’  _ me, that makes it sound dramatic…” Draco mutters.

“I did, though,” Harry says, voice low. “I laughed when you  _ really  _ didn’t need me to at the moment.” 

Draco rolls his eyes. 

“You weren’t laughing  _ at  _ me. We’ve  _ established  _ that much...and we probably could’ve established it a lot sooner had I stayed long enough to listen.” 

“You feeling hurt was valid, Draco.” 

“And running?” Draco asks, exasperated with trying to make Harry understand that  _ no, it really wasn’t _ . 

Harry shrugs. 

“It worked out,” he says, wrapping his other arm around Draco’s waist so that he encircles him fully, his front pressed up against Draco’s side. Draco rests his hand on Harry’s arm. 

“You should be at least  _ slightly  _ irritated.” 

“Well that’d be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?” 

Draco glances over at him. 

“I ran to Hermione almost as soon as you left.” 

Draco’s eyes narrowed. 

“You  _ what _ ?” 

Fear crept into Harry’s expression. 

“Well...yeah, I mean, I had to figure out how to fix this.” 

Draco rolls his eyes. 

“ _ Wonderful _ ,” He breathes, squeezing Harry’s arm. 

“You’re not mad are you?” 

Draco huffs. 

“ _ No _ , Harry, I suppose I’m not.” 

Harry squeezes his waist. 

“Not even  _ slightly  _ irritated?” 

“Oh, the irritation is growing by the second.” 

Harry grins again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Good. Back to normal, then,” he says, far too gleefully. 

“We should get off of Pansy’s porch.” 

“ _ Mm _ ,” Harry says, forehead resting against Draco’s temple. “Do you need to talk to her?” 

Draco stares at the ground, thinking of their conversation. He’s always known Pansy doesn’t like Harry. Or, rather, she doesn’t like Draco being with him. She doesn’t trust him. Draco understands. He didn’t either, before. 

“I’ll owl her tomorrow,” he says. 

“Got your wand?” 

Draco nods. 

They’re gone in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these chapters are a lot shorter than I usually make my chapters, but this is a short kind of fic that was almost going to be just a one-shot type of deal with one somewhere-around-10,000-word chapter, but instead I just decided to post as tiny instead chapters, because...why not? 
> 
> More angst comin' to you hot and heavy next week!


	4. While We're At It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, it's Wednesday.

They settle into the familiar warmth of their flat, Harry’s hand pressed flat to Draco’s chest. 

“Tea?” Harry asks softly, breaking away from him. 

Draco nods, and watches Harry go towards the kitchen. He loiters in the living room, a restless feeling in his gut preventing him from sitting down or following into the kitchen. 

“Can I ask you something?” He calls instead, listening to the sounds of Harry moving about the kitchen, unable to see him past the protruding wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. 

“ _Yeah?_ ” Harry calls back. A cabinet opens and shuts. Draco bites his lip. 

“Why are you with me?” 

Silence. 

“... _What?_ ” 

Draco runs his fingers through his hair, somewhere between wishing he never spoke and saying something else he’ll probably regret. 

And he’s Draco Malfoy after all. 

“Maybe it’s just because...I’m Draco Malfoy. Some...tamed Death Eater prize to grovel at your feet…” 

Harry appears around the wall, standing on the edge of the living room holding an empty kettle in his hands, the look on his face near comical in its confusion. He stares at him for a moment. 

“ _What?!_ ”

Draco frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. Pansy’s voice from earlier is in his head. _“You don’t deserve it.”_ Harry’s not the one who’s undeserving. 

And Draco’s never had a scab he didn’t pick at. 

“After all, the only reason I’m not in Azkaban is because _you_ testified at my trial, yes?” 

“What has your _trial_ got to do with any of this!?” Harry asks, gesturing wildly with the kettle still in one hand, staring at Draco with such baffled incredulity that Draco can only roll his eyes. 

“No, really, what the actual _fuck_ are you talking about?!” Harry exclaims, finally setting down the kettle on the table and stepping further into the living room. 

“Can you _really_ claim that you don’t still see me as an evil, Slytherin, Death Eater you hated?! Even a _little_ bit?!” Draco shouts, aware of how much this train of thought was turning into a broken record— _Evil Slytherin Death Eater, Evil Slytherin Death Eater, EvilSlytherinDeathEater_ — but unable to let it go. 

Harry stares at him, confusion turning to frustration. Magic starts to crackle around them, Draco can feel it. 

“ _Yeah_ , Draco, I bloody _can!_ Do _you_ see me as some arrogant, Gryffindor, blood-traitor?” 

Draco glares at him. 

“ _No_ ,” He answers. 

“Then where did the fucking double-standard come from!?” 

“Pansy—” 

Harry snorts,

“ _Pansy,_ ” he repeats sardonically. 

Draco reels. 

“Excuse _you,_ Potter—!” 

“What did she say?” Harry asks determinedly. 

“Nothing that wasn’t reasonable,” Draco sneers. 

“ _Reasonable?!_ Telling you I _hate you_ is _reasonable!?_ ” Harry exclaims. 

Draco fumes, turning his head away. 

“Draco, why would I be with you if I thought that!?” 

“Maybe I’m just another undertaking! Another _victim_ to save— _lost soul_ —another _challenge_ for the _Chosen One,_ ” Draco spits.

Harry scoffs, incredulous. His magic sparks dangerously against Draco’s. 

“Oh, come _on_ ,” he breathes, “Being with _you_ , Draco, is not a bloody _challenge_.” 

Draco glares at him hard, arms still crossed tight over his chest. 

“Oh really? Not even when I get upset with you so much for _every little thing_ ? Not when I berate you on almost everything you chose to wear? Now when everyone stares at us, and the Prophet decides to run a piece about us— _”Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived!, spotted again with notorious ex-Death Eater, Malfoy heir!_ ”? Not when I steal all the blankets? Not when I run away crying like a child after every misunderstanding?” 

“You don’t run away crying after every misunderstanding!”  
  
“Oh, but all the other things I do, though?” 

“Draco!” 

“ _Harry!_ ” Draco retorts. 

“You know what _is_ like you? Having the fight for both parties at the same time! I don’t even have to do anything, I could just go sit in the corner right now and watch you berate and badger both me _and_ yourself!” Harry shouts, expression set into a deep frown. 

“Well, if you weren’t so thick maybe I wouldn’t have to say your lines for you!” 

“You’re _mental!_ ” 

“ _Mental,_ am I?!” Draco shouts. 

Harry groans, dragging his hands over his face. The magic fizzling between them tastes like firewhiskey and something distinctly of the bonfire variety. It’s fully charged, and Draco’s just _waiting_ for a light fixture to explode. 

“What the hell does Pansy know?!” Harry exclaims in frustration. 

Draco’s eyes go wide. The sound of the kettle crashing to the floor ten feet away doesn’t even make him jump. 

“What the hell does _Granger_?! How about _Weasley_?!” He shouts. “According to you, _their_ opinion is worth our weight in _gold_ on every bloody issue we’ve ever had!” 

“Yeah, well, at least Hermione and Ron actually have our best interests at heart!” 

“What in the ever loving fuck is _that_ supposed to mean, Potter!?” Draco shrieks. 

“It means Pansy hates me!” 

“ _This isn’t about Pansy, Potter!_ ” Draco bellows. 

“ _Stop calling me Potter!_ ” Harry shouts right back as the lights flicker. “And stop _yelling_ while you’re at it!"

Draco bites his tongue, looking away again. 

Harry takes several measured breaths, pacing away a few steps. Draco squeezes his arms tighter. Harry paces back. 

“I’m with you because...you get it.” 

Draco looks at him again, raising an eyebrow. 

“You understand...and you listen. And you never expect me to be something I’m not, or something I can’t be. Because you _know_ me, Draco, you know me better than anyone, except when you’re so wrapped up in hating yourself so much, you can’t bloody seem to _remember_ that!” Harry ends with a cry. He steps forward, putting himself back into Draco’s space, making it impossible to look away. 

“Because you get up to put the kettle on, and skim the paper before I read it to see if there’s anything about me or the...the war in, and change all the words to _Wyrd Sisters_ lyrics if there is! And when we’re walking somewhere, how your fingers always brush up against mine...When you come home, tired, but you still smile at me, like you’re relieved, and the way you talk about the patients on your ward— _no one_ could think you’re a bad person if they saw how much you care about your patients. How efficiently and expertly you handle their care.” Harry gives him a severe look. “You’re an amazing healer, an amazing wizard, and an amazing person, not in spite of your mistakes, but because of them,” Harry finishes, holding Draco’s gaze unfairly with his own all the while. 

“And you should _know_ that.” 

Draco bites his lip. Wretched water had pooled in his eyes somewhere during Harry’s stupid rant. Harry’s face softens. 

“See, I have a list too,” he says gently. 

Draco leans in to capture Harry’s lips with his own. Harry responds immediately, arms coming up around Draco, turning so they can lean into each other. Draco fists the material of Harry’s shirt in his hands, crushing them harshly together. 

“I’ll take that as an apology, then?” Harry asks against Draco’s mouth, grinning widely. 

Draco rolls Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth. Harry bunches Draco’s hair up at the nape of his neck, and kisses him soundly once more. 

Harry tugs at Draco’s clothes before they even make it across the threshold into the bedroom. His shirt comes off over his head instead of taking the time to undo incommodious buttons. He feels the fastenings of his trousers being popped open, and then Harry yanks them down his thighs, nearly unbalancing Draco off his feet. His hands find Harry’s shoulders instead. 

“Eager?” Draco teases, whilst stepping out of his trousers. 

Harry grabs a handful of his ass in response.

“To get you out of your clothes? Who wouldn’t be?” 

Draco trails his hands down Harry’s arms, 

“Not much fun if you’re still wearing them...” 

“Should fix that, then.”

“ _Mm_ ,” Draco undoes Harry’s trousers and shoves his hand down them, grinning at the groan it draws from Harry when he cups his hand against the bulge in his pants. Harry sucks a bruise onto his shoulder as he ushers him backwards. 

They tumble inelegantly onto the bed, dislodging Draco’s hand. The air leaves his lungs in a gasp, followed by a laugh. Harry’s arm stays wrapped around Draco’s lower back, keeping them pressed together. Their eyes meet briefly. Draco arches up to kiss him again. 

The kiss turns into something less hurried. Slower, more deliberate. Harry cradles the back of Draco’s head, tilting his face up for easier access. Draco’s hands slide underneath Harry’s shirt, pushing it up as he trails his hands up his chest to his shoulders. Harry pulls back to allow the shirt to be pulled over his head, and flung somewhere unimportant. 

Draco sweeps his hands back down Harry’s front, feeling his stomach tense when Draco’s fingers brush his hips, the waistband of his pants. 

They break apart. Draco’s hands come to rest on Harry’s sides. 

“None of that is true, Draco,” Harry says, eyes boring into Draco’s. 

Draco stares up at him, mouth falling shut. Harry’s hand comes up to his cheek. 

“That shite about _Death Eaters_ , or...or you being a _victim_ , or a _challenge_.” 

Draco blinks, gaze unfocusing from Harry, going somewhere over his shoulder. Harry’s hand falls to cup his chin, and Draco looks at him again. 

“That’s not...that’s not it at all.” 

“I know, Harry,” Draco says hoarsely. There’s an ugly feeling curling around his gut, twisting up and expanding wider than he can handle. “It wasn’t fair of me to say any of that.” 

Harry bites his lip, sweeping his thumb across Draco’s mouth. 

“We’re partners, you know.” 

Draco breathes out. 

“I know.” 

Harry ducks his head to kiss him again. 

“ _Good_ ,” he says against his mouth. 

Draco lifts his hands to hold Harry’s face, keeping him close as he nips his lower lip. He feels Harry’s hand running down his side, his flank, the back of his thigh. He hitches Draco’s leg up over his hip. Draco breathes out through his nose, one hand falling to cradle Harry’s jaw, and the other tangling in his hair. Harry smiles into their kiss, rolling his hips into Draco’s. 

Draco pulls his leg away from Harry to finally do away with the last bits of clothing between them. He tugs at the waistband of both Harry’s trousers and underwear, shoving them down his hips, and Harry pulls them the rest of the way off, tossing them carelessly over the edge of the bed. Draco’s underwear joins a moment after. 

Harry hisses when Draco gets his hand around his cock, stroking him slow. He leans back down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to Draco’s cheek, his mouth, his neck as he jerks him off. 

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry breathes. 

“Yes?” 

Harry laughs against his neck, then winces when Draco twists his hand. 

“Fuck, _Draco..._ ” he groans. 

“I’m here.” 

“ _I know_.” 

Harry bites down on Draco’s nipple, making him cry out. Draco moans, grabbing a fistfull of Harry’s hair and dragging him up to capture his mouth again. Harry gets his hands underneath Draco’s knees, pulling his legs up around his waist. He thrusts hard into Draco’s hand, pressing his thigh down into Draco’s own leaking erection. 

Draco quickens the pace of his hand, trapped between them and wrapped tightly around Harry’s cock. 

Harry moans into their kiss, panting hard as they break apart, instead pressing their cheeks together. Harry’s mouth is right at Draco’s ear, hot breath tickling his neck. 

“ _Close_ ,” Harry moans. Draco bites at his jaw, and sucks a mark there. Harry’s hand bunches in his hair close to his scalp, pulling it tightly. 

“ _Yes_ , darling,” Draco urges, rolling his hips up to meet Harry’s. 

Harry comes with a broken sound that half-sounds like Draco’s name. Draco strokes him through it, not slowing until Harry’s hips stop moving frantically, and starts to relax. 

Harry exhales deeply, slowly unclenching his fingers from Draco’s hair and letting go of the hold he’d had on the back of Draco’s thigh. 

Draco makes a half-aborted sound as Harry collapses on top of him, pressing his thigh harder against his still throbbing erection. 

Harry pushes himself up again, and starts moving down. 

Draco’s stomach suckers as Harry trails kisses down, drawing a line all the way to his pubic bone. He pushes Draco’s legs open, shifting onto his knees between them. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco whines. 

Harry hums, planting a kiss against the inside of Draco’s thigh. Draco’s fingers curl tightly into Harry’s hair, Harry kisses his inner thigh again, tantalizing close to where he’s most wanted. 

“ _Harry,_ ” Draco says again, and squeezes his eyes shut. “ _Please._ ” 

He feels Harry grin against the apex of his thigh, and then his mouth’s on him. 

Draco’s back arches up from the bed. Harry’s hands clamp down on his hips, keeping him pinned. Draco drags his nails across Harry’s shoulders. 

“ _Yes!_ ” 

Harry takes him all the way to the back of his throat, beginning to move his head, working his mouth up and down most of Draco’s cock, his hand wrapped tightly around what can’t fit. He sets a steady pace that builds in Draco’s stomach like a rising tide. 

A small sound leaves Draco with every breathless pant. Harry has his arm braced against Draco’s hips, keeping him down, and Draco scrabbles for his hand. Harry laces their fingers together tightly. 

“ _C-close_ ,” Draco chokes. 

Harry lifts up to suck just the head of his cock, tongue delving around the tip once as his hand strokes the shaft in quick, brutal tugs. 

Draco’s eyes fly open as he comes, squeezing Harry’s hand and fingers tightening in his hair harder than he means to. Harry groans, stroking him through it just like Draco had. 

Satisfaction washes over him like a wave, sends his toes curling, every muscle in his body clenching around the shocks of pleasure sent their way. 

He breathes out, the slow come down gently urging him to close his eyes. Harry moves back up the bed, lying pressed up against his side. 

Their breaths are loud on the air. Chests rising and falling deeply, sweat cooling in that way that’s both pleasant and gross. 

Draco’s eyes are still shut. He’s perfectly content to fall asleep here. 

“I love you,” Harry whispers, pressing the words against Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco reaches out to find his hand in the dark. 

“I love you, too,” he sighs, squeezing Harry’s hand. A line of worry appears between his brows.

“I’m sorry.” 

Harry squeezes back. 

“It’s alright,” Harry says, kissing his shoulder. 

Draco nods. He feels Harry looking at him. Then, he feels Harry’s thumb, gently smoothing the furrow in his brow. 

The corner of Draco’s mouth lifts, Harry’s hand falling away as he relaxes. 

“ _Merlin,_ I’m exhausted…” Harry draws, his sigh sending chill bumps across Draco’s flesh. 

Harry shifts up slightly to tuck his face against Draco’s neck. 

“It’s been a long... _interesting_ evening,” Draco murmurs, running his fingers gently over Harry’s back, his shoulders, his arm. 

Harry hums in response. 

“Worked out, though…” 

The quality of Harry’s voice is muffled and low with oncoming sleep. 

Draco scoffs quietly. 

“Yeah…” 

“M’glad.” 

“Me too...” Draco presses a kiss to his temple, and then, “ _We’re okay_?” 

Harry squeezes his waist. 

“Always, love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter ft. lingerie.


	5. All Wrapped Up In Gryffindor Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what we're here for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never said *which* Tuesday. 
> 
> In all seriousness, I apologize for the delay. I managed to acquire an injury that left me unable to sit up for more than a little while at a time, so my ability to complete tasks was pretty much quartered for several days. I'm much better now! 
> 
> What's important is, I'm back! With a long chapter that is hopefully up to standards! Enjoy!

“ _ FUCK! _ ” 

Harry stops himself before calling out “ _ I’m back!” _ , and slowly closes the front door behind him. 

Various overly-aggressive kitchen noises, and a delicious smell emenante from around the corner. Harry carefully takes a few steps forward to peek his head around. 

Draco’s standing in front of the stove, concentrating hard on the sizzling pan in front of him, shaking it gently with one hand on the handle, while the other is raised to his mouth, blowing on it gently. 

“Alright, love?” 

Draco jumps, turning to Harry, who raises an eyebrow. 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“Merlin, I should have known. Everything was going perfectly fine, and then I’m sure the  _ second  _ you walk in, I burn my fucking hand.” 

Harry snickers before nearing him and taking his hand. Against his palm is an angry red patch of burned skin, with a white blister already forming in the middle. 

“And Healer Malfoy doesn’t have a spell to take care of first-degree burns?” Harry asks. 

Draco isn’t paying any attention to him, instead sprinkling salt over the pan. 

“I did not spend over an hour cooking this meal the bloody  _ muggle  _ way only to let something go wrong while I grab my wand.” 

Harry pulls out his own wand. 

“I’m sure it would have been fine if you stopped looking at it for five seconds.” Harry casts a charm to soothe the burn. 

“ _ Sure,  _ you  _ would _ ,” Draco muttered under his breath. 

“You didn’t have to cook.” 

“It’s my turn.” 

Harry shrugged. 

“I’m not  _ completely  _ incompetent,” Draco bit, sour mood turning him defensive. 

Harry puts his wand away, and looks up, meeting Draco’s eyes as he lifts his injured hand and brushes a kiss over his knuckles. 

“Never said you were even a  _ little  _ incompetent,” he says. 

Draco sighs, looking away. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m doing a  _ nice  _ thing,” he says, mocking little lilt on “nice”. 

Harry chortles. 

“You are,” he says. 

Draco glances at him again. 

“Yes, so, get out of here, Potter,” Draco says, taking his hand back and waving him out of the kitchen. 

“Don’t burn the flat down, Malfoy!” He calls as he leaves, disappearing around the corner into the living room. 

Draco mimics him childishly, and turns back to his pan, taking it off the heat quickly before it burns. 

“I cooked dinner, so the dishes are all yours,” Draco says with a smirk as he dumps both his and Harry’s empty plates into the sink among the various cooking paraphernalia that he’d used in the making of the meal. 

Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Good thing I’m an  _ actual  _ wizard who can do  _ actual  _ magic,” he snorts. 

Draco scoffs. 

“You’re  _ no fun _ .” 

“Right, that’s always what I’ve said my boyfriend Draco Malfoy finds fun. Washing up the  _ muggle way _ .” 

Draco shoots him a look. Harry grins in response, coming up to him and taking his waist, placing a chaste kiss on his mouth. 

“ _ Mm _ , your kisses don’t mean  _ shit _ ,” Draco bites out sarcastically. 

Harry quirks an eyebrow, and leans in again, kissing him once more but this time he lingers, taking the time to slot their mouths together. 

Draco breathes in deeply through his nose, holding on to Harry’s shoulders as his tongue invades his mouth. 

It’s over far too quickly, and Draco immediately misses the warmth. He makes a sound to lament his disapproval.

“I thought my kisses didn’t mean shit?” Harry says. 

Draco rolls his eyes, sliding his hand around to the nape of Harry’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. 

“ _ Hush _ ,” Draco says, pulling him towards him again. Harry lets their lips meet again for a brief moment before pulling completely away, walking away towards the living room. 

“No, apparently my kisses are worthless to you,” Harry says, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Draco follows behind him, groaning dramatically. 

“ _ Harry _ .” 

Harry turns around with an expectant look, lips twitching with what Draco  _ knew  _ was the most arrogant, shit-eating grin. 

“Yes?” He asks. 

Draco glares at him, crossing his arms. 

“Have something to say? A statement to retract, maybe?” 

Draco bites down on his growing irritation at Harry’s obvious amusement. 

“Can’t take a joke, Potter?” 

Harry just grins. 

“Can’t swallow your pride, Malfoy?” 

Draco scoffs. 

“You know damn well what I can swallow.” 

Harry’s eyes darken. 

Draco smirks, sensing imminent victory. 

“Come here,” Harry says. 

Draco cocks his head. He wants to refuse, just on principle. Make Harry come to him. Giving up his ground feels wrong in his gut.  _ Conceding _ .  _ Submitting _ .  _ Admitting defeat.  _

As they stand across from each other on opposite sides of their living room, Draco is faced with the outward ridiculousness of the situation. 

Draco chews his lip. 

He’d had plans for the evening, but he wonders if instead, they’ll just be standing here all night. 

And then Harry smiles, and Draco feels his resolve melt. 

_ It’s Harry. I don’t have to win _ . 

Draco crosses the room to him, watching as his smile slowly falls to something softer, his eyes watching him. 

Draco reaches out to him, thinking Harry is doing the same as his hands reach for Draco’s waist. Then, Harry pulls him closer, and wraps his arms around Dracos’ middle, bending his knees and lifting. Draco takes the hint, ankles crossing behind Harry’s back as he’s lifted up. Harry stands up straight, looking up at him.

Draco cups his jaw in both his hands, leaning down to brush their noses together. 

“Pleased?” Draco inquires. 

Harry grins, and lets their mouths meet. Draco hums into the kiss, trailing his hand up to tangle in Harry’s hair. Draco’s not really a light-weight. He’s even an inch taller than Harry. But there’s no argument that Harry’s stronger. His arms are locked tightly around his back, hands gripping the opposite forearm. There’s no way Harry would drop him, and Draco’s not nervous. 

“Yeah,” Harry answers. Draco nips his lower lip. 

“Bedroom,” he says. 

“ _ Mm _ , not “ _ living room” _ ?” Harry asks, backing up a step towards the couch. Draco squeezes his jaw, kissing him shortly again. 

“No. I have plans.” 

“ _ Plans _ , huh?” Harry asks, shivering, causing Draco to smirk. Harry kisses him to shut him up, and carries him towards the bedroom. 

“Put me down,” Draco says as they near the bed, pulling away from him. 

Harry lets his legs fall, setting him on his feet. 

Draco takes Harry’s shoulders and turns him, before pushing him down so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Close your eyes, then, Potter.” 

His eyebrow quirks up, but he does as he’s told. 

“Alright, now keep them closed until I say.” 

“Yes  _ sir _ ,” Harry replies mockingly. 

Draco pulls a face, though the effect is diminished by Harry’s inability to see him. 

Draco pulls open the bottom drawer in the bureau beside their bed, lifting shirts and underwear to reveal both the red and green lingerie (taken from the bin and washed). Draco picks up the red one-piece, and shuts the drawer. He glances back towards Harry, who’s sitting leaned back on his hands, arms stretched out behind him, eyes still closed. 

Draco goes into the bathroom, shutting the door. 

“ _ Am I still supposed to keep my eyes closed? _ ” Harry calls after the door shuts. 

“ _ Yes! Shut up! _ ” Draco shouts back. He hears Harry snort, but then keeps silent. 

Draco takes a breath, glancing in the mirror briefly before stripping off his clothes. 

And then there’s the matter of the lingerie itself. He picks it up, and snaps the tag off before turning it around in his hands. It seemed the only way was to step into it and pull it up. 

He did so, taking care not to tangle or twist the straps that connected the bottom to the top. 

Then it was just a matter of adjusting things in the mirror. 

He knew he couldn’t take too long. Harry was literally sitting right outside the door, waiting for him. It probably wouldn’t be very sexy of him to leave him there for half an hour. Or maybe it would. Half the game’s the anticipation, isn’t it? 

Draco runs his fingers through his hair, sure that any more fiddling would just be pointless. 

He inhales. Closes his eyes. 

_ It’s just underwear, Malfoy.  _

He lets his breath go, and leaves the bathroom before he can second guess himself, letting the door shut behind him. 

But now he’s standing in their room, and Harry’s sitting there, still with his eyes closed, head tilting to the side like he’d be perfectly content to sit there forever, waiting for whatever Draco has planned. Draco feels his resolve strengthen considerably when he sees the already visible bulge in Harry’s crotch. 

“Alright, you can...look.” 

Harry’s eyes open, and Draco feels his insides seize up. He tries not to let it show on his face. Harry’s eyes widen as they rake over Draco, sitting up straight. Draco might’ve made a comment about the wolfishness of the display, but, that was sort of the  _ point _ , wasn’t it? 

“ _ Fuck _ …” he says softly, and reaches out for him. 

Draco goes to stand in front of him, hands settling on his shoulders. Harry lightly runs his fingers over Draco’s sides, and he can’t resist the shudder at the ticklish sensation. Harry smiles slightly. 

“Red, huh?” He asks, glancing up at Draco with a teasing smirk. 

Draco lowers himself into Harry’s lap.

“Do shut up, darling,” he says as he straddles his thighs. 

He feels less exposed, sitting this close, with contact instead of just standing in front of him. 

“ _ Merlin _ , Draco…” Harry sighs, one hand coming up to the nape of Draco’s neck. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, quieter than he intended, lowering his gaze as he feels his face heating up.

He’s done it all wrong. He’s supposed to be confident. Supposed to sit on Harry’s lap and put a hand on his chest and smirk at him and tell him what to do. He’s not supposed to...whatever the hell he’s doing. 

Harry leans in to kiss him, drawing Draco’s head back up to capture his lips. Harry breaks the kiss only a moment later. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Harry says, pressing another kiss to Draco’s mouth like he can’t help it before leaning back enough to look down between them. He runs his hand down Draco’s front, fingers brushing over the silky fabric of the lingerie. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathes, “you’re un _ real _ .” 

Draco breathes out, curling his hands into the fabric of Harry’s shirt. Harry presses open-mouthed kisses to his jaw, his neck. He hooks his thumbs underneath the fabric right at the apex of Draco’s thighs and hips, and rubs small circles there. Draco makes a small noise. He tugs at Harry’s shirt, and pulls it over his head when he leans back to let him. 

“You look so gorgeous,” Harry says. 

Draco bites his lip, running his hands down Harry’s bare chest and over his sides as he fixes him with a hooded look. He urges Harry to lie back, following him down and meeting him for a kiss. 

Harry sighs, running his hands over Draco’s back, carding through his hair. 

Draco reaches between them, popping open the button on Harry’s trousers, slipping his hand past them and his underwear to get to his half-hard cock. 

“You’re gorgeous too, darling,” Draco says, and kisses his jaw where it works for him around the soft noise Harry makes. 

“Turn over,” he says. 

Draco keeps stroking him. 

“You sure?” 

“Oh, trust me,” Harry replies, nodding seriously. 

Draco scoffs and lets go of him, as if it’s all the same to him, and moves to the side. He settles down on his stomach, pillowing his head on his folded arms. Harry follows him, kneeling behind him between his legs. His hands hands trail down his back, followed by kisses down his spine, making chill bumps erupt across his flesh. 

“ _ Harry _ ,” he whines, unable to maintain the air of unaffectedness when Harry reaches the top of his ass. 

With his thumbs, Harry spreads him open, nudging the near-negligible fabric wedged between the cleft of his ass to the side. His breath on Draco’s hole makes him clench, and Draco bites his lip, burying his face in his arms. A guttural moan escapes him when Harry puts his mouth on him, tongue darting out to lick around his rim. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Draco hisses, bowing his back and pressing back against Harry’s mouth. 

Harry teases him with his tongue, flattening it against his hole and sealing his lips around it. Draco moans, biting his arm to try to keep quiet, hips moving as much as Harry will let them, seeking the friction of the mattress against his leaking erection, straining against the thin fabric of the lingerie, as well as the  _ slickhotheat _ of Harry’s mouth on him. He spreads his legs farther and draws them up, the sides of his knees pressed against the bed. Harry moans, fingers curling around the backs of his thighs as his tongue delves forth again. 

“ _ Enough… _ ” Draco murmurs, Harry’s hands still digging into the flesh of his thighs. “Enough,” he repeats louder, looking over his shoulder and pulling his hips away. 

Harry looks up, curious grin playing on his face though he’s panting, out of breath. 

“You’re not having fun?” He teases. 

Draco shifts up onto his knees, turning around to face him. 

“Lie back.” 

Harry nods, but leans forward to kiss him again all the same, hands settling around Draco’s ribcage. Draco indulges him, bones still rendered heavy and slow from Harry’s previous ministrations. His mouth is warm and familiar against his. He breaks the kiss after a few moments, and urges him to lie back like he asked. 

He drags Harry’s trousers down his legs, along with his pants, discarding them off the side of the bed. He leans forward, his thigh pressing into Harry’s very interested erection as he stretches across Harry’s chest to reach out and pull open the drawer on the bedside table, returning with lube. 

Draco flicks open the cap, and coats his fingers before reaching behind himself. 

Harry’s hands squeeze his sides as he realizes what’s happening. 

Draco presses his wet fingers to his rim, the tip of his middle finger sinking in easily due to Harry’s initial teasing. 

Draco makes an almost-hurt sound as he pushes his longest finger in to the last knuckle, letting his eyes fall closed. He hears Harry’s intake of breath in response, his hand moving down his side to his ass, fingers digging into his flesh. Draco hisses, adding another finger too quickly. 

Harry’s other hand comes up to tangle in his hair, wrenching his head up so he can kiss him, though Draco’s ability to multitask is currently impaired. All he can focus on is his fingers, which he grinds back into with small rocks of his hips, scissoring them apart. When he feels one of Harry’s fingers brush against his knuckles, nudging his hole, he accidently bites down on Harry’s tongue. 

Harry gasps, but breaks away laughing. Draco’s too distracted by Harry’s finger joining his own inside him, pumping slowly in and out, disregarding Draco’s current pace of hip undulations, making him whine. Harry’s hand in his hair slides forward to cup his face, thumb brushing over his lower lip. Draco stares down at him, eyes hooded, free hand clenching on his chest. 

“ _ Harry _ ,” he says. 

Harry sighs, staring up at him as though he’d be perfectly content to lie here with Draco on top of him, fingering him open for the good foreseeable future. Draco lets his head fall against Harry’s shoulder. He might be content with that as well, if not for his rapidly increasing need to sit on his cock. 

Draco drags his own fingers out of himself, but instead of taking the hint, Harry plunges his middle finger in along with his index, and starts to steadily thrust in and out. 

Draco cries out, clenching around his fingers. Harry turns his head, mouthing against his ear, teeth coming out to tug at the top of it. 

Draco shudders. He recovers enough to slip his lubed hand between them, reaching Harry’s cock and reveling in the groan it elicits from Harry’s throat. Draco responds with a moan of his own, pressing his own erection into Harry’s thigh, slicking Harry’s with steady strokes of his hand.

“Darling,” Draco pants, and Harry pulls his fingers back. Draco pushes himself up as Harry’s hands take his waist. 

Draco holds the base of Harry’s cock with one hand, and holds his panties to the side out of the way with the other as he lifts up. Biting his lip, he holds his breath as he sinks down onto Harry, who draws in a breath, hands gripping his hips tightly. 

“ _ Draco _ ,” he moans. 

Draco feels his mouth cracking into a smirk, familiar bolts of pleasure running through him both from the feeling of slowly being filled, and the look on Harry’s face. 

“Yes, darling,” Draco sighs, head falling back briefly as his eyes roll to the ceiling. 

He braces his hands on Harry’s chest, leaning forward slightly to find some purchase for rocking back and forth. Each sound that falls from Harry’s lips urges him on, causes him to quicken his pace. He rocks back onto Harry’s cock, his own dragging delectably again his stomachs, the fabric of the knickers only adding to the friction. 

“ _ Draco! _ ” Harry exclaims, his hands on his hips helping him to move, forcing him back down hard everytime Draco moves forward. 

Draco grins again, and then moans as his prostate is hit. He leans down further to slot his lips with Harry’s, and Harry responds amicably. 

Draco can tell Harry’s getting close by the way his hips start to jerk, bounding off Draco’s every thrust. So Draco pulls back, and pushes himself up so that he’s sitting, knees bracketing Harry’s thighs. His hands clench into fists over Harry’s stomach as he starts working his thighs, bouncing on Harry’s cock, hips swiveling with every downward thrust. Harry’s hands tighten impossibly on his hips, forcing him to move faster, harder. 

A small, punched-out noise leaves Draco’s mouth every time he bottoms out and his prostate is nailed. He can feel his stomach tightening, ropes of pleasure uncoling in his pelvis. 

“ _ Yes! _ ” He calls out, “ _ Yes! Please! _ ” He repeats as he chases the feeling. 

He calls Harry’s name as he catched up with release, clenching hard, apex of pleasure crashing through him.

Harry groans, going tense as Draco’s climax triggers his own, pulling him down by the waist and wrapping his arms around his middle, crushing him to his chest. Their hips move relentlessly against each others’, carrying them through the high of their orgasms. Draco gasps, fingers curling into Harry’s hair, rocking back desperately. Harry moans his name. 

His muscles start to relax as their motions slow down. Their stomachs are sticky between them with Draco’s release, and he’s sure much of his lingerie is too. 

Good thing he’s an  _ actual  _ wizard who can do  _ actual  _ magic. Draco can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth, despite feeling like he lacks the strength to lift his head. 

Harry’s hand cards through his hair gently, fingers brushing over the sweaty back of his neck as he sighs. 

Draco hums, his position seated on Harry’s softening cock growing more uncomfortable by the second. He shifts forward, and Harry pulls his hips back to slip out of him. Draco settles down again, pressing his mouth against Harry’s throat in an imitation of a lazy kiss. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Draco…” Harry says, breathless.

Draco exhales slowly. 

“Help me get this off,” He says, leaning back away from him and shifting to the side. 

Harry laughs quietly, lifting his hands to help peel straps down. Draco lets him do most of the work, rising to his knees and lifting his legs one at a time to slide the lingerie down before he’s finally free. 

“I’m rather impressed you managed to get this on without tangling it,” Harry comments, voice low, like he just woke up. 

Draco makes a face at him, and lays back down on his side. 

Harry grins, and joins him a second later, lingerie disposed of probably on the floor. 

Harry’s arm wiggles its way underneath Draco, pulling him close. Draco rolls onto his stomach, sighing, resting his head on his chest, running his fingertips over the hair there.

“I loved this,” Harry remarks, curling his hand over Draco’s shoulder. “You’re incredible.” 

“Mm, maybe we ought to get you into sexy underwear next, hmm?” Draco murmurs.

Harry laughs, arm curling around Draco’s shoulders. 

“Yeah, we could try that.” 

Draco presses his smile against Harry’s skin. He trails his hand up Harry’s side, then presses up with his other arm braced on the bed beside him, holding himself up. 

“I love you,” he says sincerely, looking down at Harry with a furrow in his brow. “I feel like I don’t say that without prompting enough.” 

Harry reaches up and cups Draco’s cheek.

“You don’t have to say it,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over Draco’s cheekbone. 

“I want to,” Draco replies, settling back down against his chest. “I want you to know that you’re loved.” 

Harry’s eyes fill with emotion—love and warmth and tender peace. Arms come around his shoulders, impossibly tight. He presses his lips to the top of Draco’s head, a long, lingering kiss. 

“ _ I love you so much _ ,” Harry says into his hair. 

Draco presses a kiss to his skin, and squeezes his shoulder. 

“I know,” he sighs. 

Harry’s fingernails scratch gently at the nape of his neck, quite pleasurably. Draco tilts his head back slightly into it, happy if Harry never let go. 

“ _ Good _ .” 

Draco smirks, and, just because he can’t help himself: 

“Dumb Gryffindor.” 

He feels Harry’s silent laughter in his chest when he replies,

“Insufferable Slytherin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! Xx


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